


on fit:

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Duke students annoying innocent bystanders, Fluff, Guilt, M/M, bad writing treated seriously (kinda), canes are in the playoffs for the first time in a decade, canes rookie wingers with dimples have so much power, dougie's moral compass is voiced by TvR, listen these two's friendship is Pure i'm sorry, not a plot point but it matters to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 13:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18717838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dougie's a younger brother, and he feels weird being alone in Raleigh, and he feels guilty about wanting the teenaged rookie. Andrei's a younger brother, used to the spotlight, and he doesn't know why he's not enough.or: Dougie's been called locker room cancer enough to not want to mess with anything, but Andrei is more than happy to be messed with.





	on fit:

Dougie Hamilton had A Problem. Namely, a teenage problem, a Russian Problem he’d apparently co-adopted with Jordy Martinook, based on the amount of dinners they’d shared together. But Martinook was married up and domestic _,_ and so when Dougie tried to hit up singles in bars, his wingman was this too pretty Russian kid.

 

“Dougie!” the kid had _beamed_ at him after optional practice one afternoon (not that anything was really optional with Rod Brind’amour, not when he announced “optional” by staring into their souls to judge them worthy, or whatever). “You have museum to go to, or can we dinner together?”

 

Dougie couldn’t help it. He laughed. Andrei’s smile grew bigger. “Yeah, Svech, let’s get some food.”

 

When he’d first moved here after the trade, he hadn’t expected most of what he found. The summer heat, for one thing, was a wet one, sinking into the bones and leaving him drained even into fall. Barbeque, another thing he hadn’t fully tried before diving into the American South. The rookie who’d taken to following him around, though? That was something he couldn’t have learned through an internet search.

 

Because Dougie liked to tease the new guys on a team, but he wasn’t used to rookies following him around like. well. _ducklings,_ especially when he was himself _new._ Foegele didn’t do it like Svech did, but he had a girlfriend and a few more years and. Well. Most of the team was _settled_ in the way Dougie was restless. Andrei was restless too, and, well. It helped.

 

And even though Andrei lived away from him, he came home with Dougie many nights with the excuse he wanted to spend the night away from his mom. So Dougie got used to him, is all. Even with Carolina’s cost of living, the kid paid too much for rent considering how many nights he spent in Dougie’s or Martinook’s guest rooms. Dougie didn’t mind. He’d had Freddie in Calgary until he didn’t and living alone was lonely. Coming from Toronto, then from Boston and Calgary, Dougie was used to a bit more of a concentrated city. Raleigh or the Triangle or whatever was more a mess of cities all circling each other. It was more private, really. And that was _nice_ , after years of media questioning his “locker room personality.” And it was nice to feel like he _fit_ somewhere.

 

There was something domestic about waking up in the mornings, walking into his kitchen, and finding a breakfast half-prepared by an eighteen-year-old who was made too self-sufficient too young.

 

“Not on meal plan, but Mama taught me how to make blini,” the kid had said one morning, and well, they were good and Dougie ate them. Nothing weird about eating the occasional sweet food as a professional athlete. Maybe something weird about watching Andrei eat it, watching his lips close around a bite then smiling, bright and wide and open at Dougie.

 

And maybe encouraging the rookie to stay over more nights so that you could wake up to more food was a _bit_ inappropriate, but people didn’t tend to take care of Dougie, and he was never sure how to ask for that. Some rookie making him Russian pancakes or whatever? It was appreciated, and so were the sunny smiles the kid would give him each morning, when his hair was still natural and not yet perfected.

 

So he drove Svech to practice and often drove him to get dinner after. But that day was a Friday night without a game, so after dinner, Dougie drove Svech out to some dive bar in Durham that’d mark Andrei’s hands and let him stay after 10pm, even though the kid was painfully teenaged. Andrei’s voice cracked during practice, and it was too endearing for Dougie to even tease him for it. (Svech endeared himself to Dougie a lot. Something about the dimples and the earnest _arrogance,_ this cocky pride that was _well earned--_ )

 

Of course, as they entered the bar, Dougie noticed. It’s not just (and he can almost hear the Informative Lecture in van Riemsdyk’s Jersey accent as he thinks it) _normal_. ( _straight_ , the Trevor voice corrects him, _which isn’t “normal,”_   _but rather fitting into societal norms about sexuality_ , which, what the fuck, Dougie played in the O, where the hell was he supposed to learn about “societal norms” outside of his teammates calling him a pussy for not coming to parties every night?) _._

 

Anyways. The bar wasn’t gay, either, he’d realized, looking at the amount of college-aged men and women touching each other, close together. Mixed, then, which was nice, and also gave Dougie a chance to try his luck with people he otherwise wouldn’t if he’d had more than a baby-faced tag-along.

 

Speaking of whom, Svech was wearing ripped, Euro-trash looking jeans and sitting wide-legged next to Dougie at their table, a cocky grin splitting his face.

 

“So, what I say to help you out, Dougie? I go up to pretty girl, and say, “I would buy you drink, but!” and here, naturally, he theatrically raised his hands, the black X’s reminding Dougie that the kid was eighteen, and definitely reminding him not to focus on the hands themselves. “I am too young! …But then, you see, I tell her, ah, don’t worry, I have friend who can buy you drink!”

 

Andrei leaned in conspiratorially to continue, and Dougie resolutely ignored the breath caught in his throat. “I tell her, he’s 2 meters tall.”

 

“Not quite 2 meters,” Dougie replied, trying to keep the weird mixture of laughter and embarrassment from taking over his expression. “You’re not that much shorter than me, Svechy.”

 

“It matters to girls,” the Russian replied earnestly, leaning yet more forward, his eyes downright _twinkling_ at Dougie, which was a bit much, all things considered. The kid looked like a future GQ model as is, and the _eye-twinkling_ and _leaning_ and _dimples_ in combination with that was _A Lot_.

 

“Not all women are interested in men, here.” Dougie changed the subject, trying to throw off the kid. Wasn’t he from like, Siberia? Are there even gay bars in Siberia? Was this what his twenties were supposed to be like? Trying desperately to stop crushing on the guy he spent most of his free time with?

 

“Of course, and not all women are interesting to men. Do you want me to set you up with a man then, Doug The Thug?” and Christ that nickname was stupid when Martinook shrieked it in practice, but Andrei’s voice was thick and rough and Russian and appealing in a way it _really_ shouldn’t have been. Especially when its owner regularly cut himself shaving nonexistent facial hair. In Dougie’s apartment, at that.

 

Before Dougie had a chance to reply to any of _that_ , because he wasn’t sure how Andrei had ferreted out that information regarding his, uh, Interests, the teenager had wiggled out of his seat and onto the dance floor. His muscular frame got him immediate attention. Dougie retreated to his head where no one could hear his increasingly desperate thoughts of “ _born in 2000 born in 2000 **born in** **2000** ”_ as Svech grinned teasingly at smaller men, danced with some, and eventually dragged some half-sober student to their table.

 

“Dougie! This is Kostya, he is Duke Political Science Student! Kostya, meet Dougie!”

 

The dude dragged himself up to his full height to drawl out, “Sweetheart, it’s _Constantine_. I go by Con, actually” And his tone was condescending enough to make Dougie’s jaw clench, because really?

 

He talked with “Con” anyways, because he’s a good Canadian boy who didn’t just glare at people for talking down to his rookie, even when he really wanted to. He didn’t pay attention to the guy, just watched Svech wander off the dance floor with a taller guy who reminded him uncomfortably of Staal in both size and blondeness.

 

Dougie watched as Andrei pulled the Staaler--taller. _taller_ guy down towards him, and they kissed. Well, made-out based on the intensity of things, the way Andrei craned up his neck for the man, leaned in close, and, oh for fucks sake, stared headily at Dougie as the man continued down his neck.

 

Which:

  1. _hot_
  2. rude
  3. _he’s your rookie stop staring you creep jesus christ_



 

The man really did look as blonde and broad as Staal, and Dougie despite himself read into it, read into the hunger with which this stranger marked Svech in public. Read into the challenging stare of Andrei.

 

Svech untangled himself after a bit, with a peck to the man’s cheek, and he crept right up to Dougie with a smug _cocky_ smile on his face. “Take me home, Dougie?”

 

And Dougie, god help him, wasn’t about to _refuse_. He resolutely set course for Andrei’s apartment, as the kid spoke, abruptly.

 

“I know you think I’m young.”

 

The little hiss of his accent around _th_ ink was sweet, the “th” still difficult for him.

 

“You’re eighteen, Andrei.” Dougie said then, determined not to look over at whatever puppy face the guy was giving him, because they worked about 90% of the time. (Thinking about it, Dougie was kind of easy for Andrei’s face, but given Andrei’s face, that seemed fair.)

 

“Stupid,” Andrei sniffed. “Not too young, not too young. Not too small, either.”

 

Which _also_ wasn’t inaccurate. The kid was broader than most of his hookups, and taller too. But Dougie looked at the slender wrists, all the more tiny compared to those arms, and thought _I could break you in half_. And that was not really something Dougie’s into, for all the tiny women that hit on him by saying that shit.

 

“You’re _eighteen,_ Andrei,” Dougie repeated. If he said it enough, maybe he’d remember it next time Andrei smiled at him sunnily, or asked him to dinner, or sprawled next to him in a car and asked _why not me?_

 

“Some radio in Vancouver says I’m older, before draft. Say my birth date is wrong and I’m 20.” And yeah, that was definitely a pout.

 

Dougie laughed at that, because Andrei whined with the best of them. “And some radio said I spend all my free-time in museums.”

 

Andrei laughed a bit too, relaxing from what Dougie’s realized was a tensed pose. He’s such a brat.

 

“Brat,” Dougie teased out loud.

 

It did something interesting to Andrei’s face. Oh, now the guy’s sulking again, and mutters something like “mui ne bratya.” which is either weird English, or, more likely, Russian, but either way Dougie doesn’t know what to do with it, so he just ruffles the guy’s hair.

 

“I’m twenty-five. You can find someone your own age, especially with that face,” which was letting on a Bit Too Much, Dougie thought despairingly. But Svech was pretty, and he knew it, based on the chirps he gave his older opponents. More importantly, Dougie never claimed to be smart, and his rejections were normally to people who haven’t bothered to get to know him before asking his if his dick is proportional, which like, save it for date 2, maybe. Rejecting someone who had tried to Know him was difficult, especially as Dougie really, really wanted to Know Svechy too.

 

“Since I was kid, I play with older group because Zhenya is older. Lots of teams think I’m too young and try to make me leave. It not work then.” _That’s a challenge, isn’t it_ , Dougie thought with a mix of despair and faintly, _faintly_ , arousal. If Dougie became a _challenge_ , then Svech would lock jaw into winning his affections. And well, Dougie has always been a bit easy for affection.

 

“Andrei,” Dougie started, voice a bit too thick. “It’s. I’m not uninterested. But you’re uh, a lot younger than me. If you get some more, uh, experience, then maybe, you know.”

 

He wasn’t looking, but he felt the heat of Andrei’s gaze on him and tried not to show discomfort. Andrei sulked in his own seat for a bit. Dougie realized he’d driven to his apartment instead of Andrei’s.

 

Andrei walked too close to Dougie, stood in his shoulder the elevator ride up, and carefully stepped away into the guest room he normally spent the night. Dougie did not appreciate the yearning he felt to follow, because Jesus, he was the one rejecting in the first place.

 

God, Andrei was probably calling Evgeny now, and Dougie did not want that kid upset with him. Evgeny was a good kid, sweet, even, but every time they’d met he’d stared coldly at Dougie. Evgeny reminded him of Freddie. A little heavy-handed in the protective older brother glare, but fuck if it didn’t terrify Dougie each time.

 

Dougie’s attempts to sleep resembled less the thoughtful counting his sports therapist had taught him and more intense staring at the ceiling imagining how Evgeny Svechnikov was going to beat him up for rejecting Andrei.  

 

By some luck, he woke up rather than just continued into morning. Andrei was pouring coffee. The kid beamed at him, to which Dougie hesitantly smiled back, and accepted the cup he was offered.

 

“You say, I need experience, right Dougie?”

 

Dougie nodded trepidously.

 

“I asked Martin,” ( _Necas? Oh God, now half the AHL knew Svech was looking for hookups._ Dougie wanted to groan a bit. _)_ “And he say, you know, Kuokka is actually single, and he is closer to my age.”

 

Dougie recalled how pretty Janne Kuokkanen was and had to clamp down on that jealousy. Fuck, he had no right to feel jealous about this. He wasn’t even aware Kuokkanen was interested in men, but with the Europeans it was hard to tell sometimes. _There are no “gay” or “straight” interests, and just because someone wears clothes that fit that doesn’t make them gay_ , the Trevor voice in his head reminded him. But Kuokkanen _was_ pretty, and dressed well, and was really friendly, damn him, and was apparently into men and potentially  _Svech_ , so like, fuck you Trevor, sometimes stereotypes have a basis. Regardless. someone like _that_ could help Svech get Dougie out of his system. 

 

 _Why_ did that hurt so much to think about?

 

“Or,” Andrei started, licking his lips, “I wait until I’m older, and you can help me experience.”

 

“You can do better, Svech,” Dougie said, and his sadness was a little too unmasked. Andrei’s sidled up closer while Dougie was thinking about Kuokkanen’s stupid hair, and he was beautiful in the morning, soft light smoothing out blemishes and brightening his dark eyes.

 

Andrei leaned in and kissed Dougie on the cheek. Dougie managed not to  crack the handle of his mug in the startled movement he made. Based on the smug look his rookie was giving him, he wasn’t super successful in hiding his surprise. Whatever.

 

“Janne is hot,” Andrei mused, which felt like a punch to the gut, especially when rumbled out of his…rookie’s mouth. He was close enough to breathe in when he murmured, “You’re hotter though” and met Dougie’s lips properly this time.

Dougie set down his coffee and grabbed Andrei’s hips, pulling him onto his lap. His kitchen stool gave a treacherous groan, nervous to carry two oversized men at once. Didn’t really matter much to Dougie, whose mind had stopped working about 15 seconds ago, and honestly had stopped working properly when a blushing Russian hotshot at training camp told him he had good hands. His mind came back online around the time Andrei decided to use tongue, and Dougie sighed and lifted Andrei back off of him.

 

“Just. Get a bit older, Andrei.” He’d said, and Andrei looked sad enough to make him want to reconsider.

 

 

Over the next few months, Dougie ~~justified himself~~ thought about it. On the one hand, the kid’s position was much more stable than his own. Andrei was a second overall who could’ve been first most years, and the team has adopted him into its future. Dougie’s been bounced across different teams as needed. An asset that plays well enough to sell for another asset. At least Ferland came with him this time, but he’s all married and parenting and shit, which is a lot to unpack when Dougie just wants to like. Chill.

 

Also, Micheal’s shorter than him and about 10 times more physical, so he’s serious and a little bit dumb. Smarter than most hockey players, but a low bar, really. Dougie’s a bit dumb too, though, which was why when Svechy turned 19 and asked to hang out for his birthday night, Dougie drove them out to Lake Johnson after dinner to star gaze and eat takeout.

 

The night was clear, which was nice, and grossly hot, which wasn’t. Dougie’d long ago fitted out the bay of his truck to be comfortable to lie down in, even if his feet dangled off the edge. Andrei hadn’t kissed him since that breakfast months back, but he’d been touchy. Everyone’s touchy on a team, but Andrei found ways to hug Dougie and Dougie found ways to score so Andrei would hug him.

 

“Look at,  ah, Bolshoi Pyos,” Andrei pointed up. His head was on Dougie’s chest ‘for better vision.’ “How is it called in English?”

 

“I have no idea, Svech.”

 

“It’s mean Big Dog. It has Dog Star in it.” Andrei lowered his hand. “Do they not teach astronomy to Canada? They teach us in Russia. Is that only for countries who send people to space?”

 

“We have a space program!” Dougie replied indignantly. He was pretty sure they did, anyways, and he’d read _Harry Potter_ , so he knew this next bit. “Sirius is the dog star!”

 

Andrei laughed, his body rumbling against Dougie’s. He’d pulled out an – is that a _star map?_ “Okay, okay, I see. That W-shape one is called Cassiopeia in both languages, good! Oh, and Sirius is of _Canis Major_ , Dougie.”

 

Andrei kept pointing out the sky to him, and said, suddenly, “It used to be Papa and Mama driving Zhenya and I out of the city to see sky. Not many people live outside the city, so we could just look up and see so much. Harder here, but much warmer. I like it, here.”

 

Despite himself, Dougie sat up a bit, jostling Andrei as he craned his neck to kiss the top of his head. …Andrei was sweet, was all.

 

And a little wicked, given how sharp the smile he got back was, how quickly Andrei shifted the kiss to lips, how smoothly Andrei unbuttoned Dougie’s shirt to press his mouth against his chest and sucked.

 

“Dougie, you always,” _bite_ , “don’t wear shirt in locker room after games.” _lick_ “is like you know what you’re doing.” _suck_ “to me.”

 

He moved back to Dougie’s mouth, the kiss turning lazy. “Am I enough yet, for you, Dougie?”

 

And Dougie still knew, _knew_ he’s too young, but he’d been half in love for nearly a year and well, he’s always been dumb. “You’re enough, you’re enough,” he gasped, and the smile directed at him nearly took him out completely.

 

Then two weeks later, his childhood hero knocked out his …Andrei…, and the vision of Andrei getting shuffled off the ice, bleeding, concussed. Dougie wasn’t dumb enough to fight Ovechkin like his ~~boyfr~~ Andrei was, but he always, always had his back, and scored two to match Foegele's defense of Andrei.  "Never meet your heroes in the playoffs," was some advice Williams could have sauced his way before he had to watch a guy whose poster he'd had on his wall growing up punch a rookie (his rookie.  _Andrei_ ) in the face before the younger's gloves were even off.

 

The win felt hollow without Andrei, and he nearly cried talking to the reporters crowding around his locker like vultures. They’d have to win the series to make any of it feel worth it. But when he got home, Andrei was at his apartment, clearly having finally escaped his mother and brother and doctors, looking tired and in pain. Dougie cooed at him, took him to bed and let him rest, injured head propped up on a pillow and his chest.

 

The next morning, he told a more lucid Andrei, “I scored for you, you know, on the powerplay and everything.”

 

Andrei’s answering smile was sleepy and still a bit cloudy from pain meds. “Powerplay goal not impressive.”

 

“Power play goal is _more_ impressive, Svech. This is _our_ team we’re talking about. Powerplay goal counts, like, twice. Also, I scored two for you, actually.” And Andrei’s laughing, even if he stops to hold his head after a bit, but it loosens the tight belt around his heart. _Andrei’s going to get better_ , Dougie let himself think, for the first time since the fight.

 

He watched the morning light glow off of Andrei’s skin before he took him to his doctor's appointment. Andrei kissed him on the cheek in the car, and the warmth of it carried Dougie through the day.

**Author's Note:**

> just as a russian note, brat = "брат" (brother) so svech mutters we're not brothers (мы не братья), because that's what i've decided to clarify about this disaster of a fic.


End file.
